


Fantasies

by churchwash



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: (sort of), F/M, Face-Sitting, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Lust, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchwash/pseuds/churchwash
Summary: Carolina has fantasies about Wash.





	Fantasies

**Author's Note:**

> the first thing I've written in months and it's unrequited pwp. washlina shippers I'm so sorry
> 
> un-beta'd and barely proof-read

Carolina strips off her shirt, then her bra, sighing in relief at the cool air in her room. She absently massages her breasts while she goes to shut the blinds and turn on the lights. She goes to sit on the bed, stretching her arms above her head and popping her sore back with a groan.

It'd been a long day of nothing, mostly just a half-assed, bullshitted game of capture the flag with Donut, against Wash and Caboose, but she was getting _old_. (Not really, and she knew that. But after everything, she sure as fuck _felt_  old.)

She flops back against the pillows, humming in satisfaction. New bases, new beds, new everything from Kimball, and it's everything she could've asked for and more. She hasn't slept in a bed this soft since before basic training.

Carolina feels herself drift a little, her mind wandering. She regrets turning on the lights, now, but ultimately she doesn't mind. She's been able to sleep in the middle of a war-zone, she can relax with the lights on. She thinks about the day, then back, back to when they moved to this rock, back to Chorus, back to Epsilon—

She grimaces and stops that train of thought before it can depart. Not today.

No instead she'll … Her mind drifts back to their CTF game earlier. They hadn't been wearing armor. It was a tackle-based game, this time, rather than their usual lock-paint. Actually, thinking about it, that's most likely why her back hurt. Wash had gotten her once, thrown her to the ground, grinned, and ran off.

God, his smile...

She shifts and pictures him in her mind. 6'2 and 200 pounds of practically pure muscle. He'd thrown her down so easily. Carolina won't lie to herself — she's found Wash attractive since he was the rookie on the team in Freelancer. But she was his boss, she was … kind of with York (it was complicated), and they didn't have time. There was never _any_  time.

But on this rock, alone, _retired_ , maybe they have time. Maybe she has time for...

Her thoughts shift immediately, a spike of heat lancing its way through her belly.

They've all seen each other naked before. In Freelancer, that is. Communal showers, post-mission — none of them ever had anything to hide. Wash was younger in PFL, late 20s, if she had to guess. Peak physical condition. Wide shoulders, a broad chest, strong core, thick thighs and a great ass. Well endowed.

Carolina feels her face flush and she bites her lip, her hand running over her breasts, down her stomach, and under the waistband of her pants. She knows she shouldn't. They're _friends_. Brothers in arms. But she can't help herself from imagining his large, strong hands gently grabbing at her arms, holding her down, pinning her wrists. Or maybe she'd be the one on top, her hands pressed against his chest, fingers digging into the muscles, her nails leaving semi-circles in his warm, black skin.

But no, right now, she's being held down. She's always liked his hands. His fingers. She imagines Wash sticking two fingers into her mouth, spit being a cheap replacement for lube, and she can almost taste it: that salty, bitter flavor. She imagines those fingers going south, down, down, until they're right— no. Not yet.

Carolina takes a deep breath and shifts on the bed, letting her hand rest for a moment before she starts again, feeling her muscles twitch in anticipation.

This time, she imagines kissing him, how it would feel. If he's a slow, gentle kisser, always waiting for her to make the first move. Or if he'd be more aggressive — forceful — biting and licking and taking. She thinks she likes the second idea more. Every partner always waited for her, but.

She imagines the scar bisecting his lips. From a knife lodged into his maxilla that left him with a few teeth less and a new scar on his face. She swears she can feel it pressed against her lips, a ghosting of what it would _really_ be like. She imagines the feeling go lower, his lips skimming over her throat, her collarbone, her sternum. She imagines his lips wrapping around her nipple and _sucking_ and.

She imagines him kissing lower, lower, over her stomach, her hips, down her thighs, and back up to the heat between her legs, his tongue—

Carolina shudders and pulls her hand out of her underwear, wiping her fingers on her stomach. She'd always been quick to orgasm. It was nice when she was in bed with someone — she had never been left hanging — but it's frustrating when she's on her own. She can't ever complete a fantasy.

She sighs and stands from her bunk, knees a little weak, bracing her hand on the wall. She takes a minute to compose herself, then heads towards the bathroom. She needs a shower.

\--

Carolina realizes a few days later, much to her dismay, that she opened the floodgates. She'd well and truly squashed the attraction that she had for Wash during Freelancer. But now it's bubbling back up again, and fuck, she's only enforced it by getting herself off to the thought of him.

Because now? Now she can't help but watch him when they go for runs in the morning together. Can't help the way she lets herself lag behind so she can watch the way his muscles bunch and flex as he runs. At first they ran in their armor, but once they realized that they didn't _need to_ anymore, they devolved into oddly fitting workout clothes they took from Chorus. It's the worst decision Carolina has ever made. (An exaggeration, but you know.)

She's back in her room, sweaty and her legs are burning, and she can't get the image of him out of her head. She's obsessing, like she tends to do. But instead of obsessing about herself, it's about Wash. His strong jaw. His bleached hair. His golden eyes. His wide smile with three missing teeth — she'll never know why he didn't just get them fixed.

She knows she shouldn't — it's _Wash_ — but she's wriggling out of her sweatpants, letting them drop to the floor. She shouldn't, but she's lying down on her soft bed, her hand immediately going between her legs. No foreplay. She's getting to the goods right away, today.

She's not wet enough yet, but she'll get there. Carolina lazily rubs her fingers over her clit and lets herself drift into a fantasy, begging herself to focus well enough to keep it coherent, to let it play out to completion. She's not going to hold back, this time.

Wash is older. She notices that right away. Mid-Chorus, maybe. Grey at his temples and not a spec of bleach in his dark, dark brown hair. He looks tired, as he always does, but not exhausted. He has crowfeet at the corners of his eyes that crinkle when he smiles. Carolina wonders why her brain picked _this_ Wash, but she's not going to psychoanalyze her kink-brain. Not right now, at least.

They're kissing, but Carolina doesn't linger on that. She's wanting more. Wash's lips are on her breasts, now, kissing gently before taking her nipple into his mouth, sucking, and there's a graze of teeth and—

Carolina dips a finger into herself, heat pooling in her stomach.

Wash bites down, gentle, gentle, and he flicks his gaze up to look at her face, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he licks over her nipple, soothing the pain. Carolina imagines getting her hands into his hair, curling her fingers and tugging.

She needs to hurry this along. With a final nip to the sensitive skin on her breast, Wash is moving down. But no, she...

The scene changes, and Wash is on his back, now. She's over him, her thighs on either side of his head and yes. This is what she wants. He's staring up at her, eager, and she'd grin back down at him, if this was real. A moment later, and she feels, can swear she can feel, the warm, wet press of his tongue against her. She shudders, in both real life and her fantasy, and lets out a small, quiet whimper. He licks a long stripe over her folds, and then his mouth's on her clit, his tongue tracing sensless patterns.

Carolina doesn't know if Wash is any good at oral sex. But right now, in her mind, he's the best she's ever had, his tongue hitting all the spots that drive her wild, the ones that make hot pleasure spike through her gut, the ones that make her bite her lip and moan into the empty room.

She's so glad no one else is awake this early.

Two fingers in now, and she's grinding on Wash's face, her hands in his hair. He takes it in stride, his tongue working wonders, and she can hear the small noises he's making. She assumes he's touching himself.

This is _her_ fantasy. He's touching himself, his hand slowly working over his cock as he eats her out. He's getting as much pleasure from this as she is.

It's nice, but she can feel herself getting close, and she needs _more_.

She's the one on her back now, spread out under him once again. His fingers are inside of her, and she knows that she wouldn't be stretched enough for that, not for three of them, but there's no time to think about that. She's wet, she's so wet and impossibly hot and his fingers are as magic as his tongue.

Wash pulls his fingers out of her after a minute, and licks over them, and Carolina whimpers. Fuck.

She feels herself twitch, then again, and she stops her hand, just for a moment. Not yet. Not yet, she needs to—

Wash is inside of her, now, but she wants. She wants the build up. Just a bit. No, instead he has a hand stroking himself again. His other hand is braced by her head, and he's gazing down at her. He never talks in her fantasies, she can never get his voice right, but if this was real, he'd ask her if she was _ready, Boss?_

Carolina imagines she'd nod, _knows_ she'd nod, and _then_  he'd be inside of her, a slow press. A slow stretch of friction and pressure, but she's so wet that it doesn't hurt, and fuck, fuck fuck _fuck_.

She can't stop herself from letting out a low groan as she orgasms, squeezing around her fingers, trying to get _more_. Her mind whites out for a minute, and when she opens her eyes again, she's in a dimly lit room with her wet hand resting on her thigh.

Damn. She didn't even get to the best part.

Next time.

\--

They're against the wall, Wash's hands under her thighs and her arms slung around his shoulders. Her nails are digging into the skin of Wash's back, leaving red lines that she can't wait to soothe with kisses later.

There isn't any build up, no foreplay, no teasing. No, instead he's inside her, fucking her hard and rough and she _loves_  it. His forehead is pressed against her shoulder and she can feel his hot breath over her collarbone, panting, just as riled up as she is.

She's wet enough that there's no pain and barely any friction — just pure fucking _pleasure_  as he pumps into her. Carolina moves her hands, knowing Wash is strong enough to hold her up by himself, and gets one under his chin, tilting his head up for a biting, wet kiss. The other goes south, her fingers teasing over her clit to give her the final push towards completion.

They both moan into each other's mouth as Carolina orgasms first, her walls clamping down on Wash's cock.

Carolina's breath hitches, her hands working faster both in and over herself.

Wash comes a beat after. And there's no condom, no protection, because this is _her_  fucking fantasy and fuck logistics and pregnancy and STDs. No, Wash just comes inside of her to her insistent moaning ( _please, please, oh fuck, come inside me, Wash, fuck, Wash, please_ ). She swears she can feel the warmth, the wetness, and God, Carolina orgasms for real to the image of Wash pulling out and setting her down, his come dripping down her thigh. He'd dip his fingers back into her, and she'd twitch, oversensitive, and he'd fuck her with them, building her back up and up and up

But the fantasy's over, fizzling out as Carolina pulls her own fingers out of herself. Well, at least she got to the best part, this time.

She groans, sore from how hard she'd been going (it had _finally_ gotten good), and makes her way towards the bathroom attached to her room.

While she cleans herself, she feels a vague mix of anticipation and anxiety wash over her. She can't keep doing this. Or, well, she _can_ , no one's stopping her, but. Wash is single ( _obviously_ ), and if she could have these fantasies for _real_ then … Why not? This isn't elementary school. She can admit her feelings, and she can accept the rejection.

Turning off the water, she cements her decision. She'll proposition him. And if he says no, that's fine. But if he says _yes_ , well.

Carolina feels her face flush.

\--

"Hey Wash, can we talk?"

Wash glances up at her, taking a second to process, before he smiles. "Sure," he replies, setting aside the rifle he'd been cleaning. He stands, stretches, and Carolina has to bite her lip when his shirt rides up _just enough_  to reveal a strip of skin above the waistband of his fatigues.

"What's up?" He asks, placing his hands on his hips, and Carolina drags her gaze back to his face.

"It's nothing serious," she says, folding her arms loosely. "I was wondering: do you want to get together?"

Casual. Simple. She's always been straight forward.

She watches as Wash blinks, his head tilting just a touch to the side. "Get together?" He echoes, sounding confused. "You mean … romantically?"

"Or sexually, if you want. It's not a big deal if you don't."

"Oh."

Carolina frowns. "Oh?"

Now he looks nervous, a faint blush spreading across his dark cheeks. She _never_ took him as the bashful type. "Oh God. Uh. Right."

She laughs now, breaking up the tension. They're friends, they always have been, and they always will be, despite an awkward 'I want to be with you.' "You can say no, it won't break my heart. Just figured we were too old for the whole 'will they won't they' thing."

"Yeah, no, you're right, it's just … Wow. Uh. I'm gay."

Carolina blinks at him. "You're … gay."

Wash scratches at the back of his neck and kind of laughs, the sound awkward. "Uh, yeah. I like … male people. And you're not. A male person?"  
  
"...Don't strain yourself, Wash," she replies, feeling her lips quirk up into a smile. So, this is awkward, but not for the reason she expected.

Wash smiles back, and she feels better. "Yeah, sorry."

"It's your sexuality, Wash, you don't need to apologize."

"No, it's not that. It's just, y'know, if you were a guy—"

"But I'm not."

"But you're not."

Carolina can't help but laugh. "Fair enough." A beat, then, "How did that never come up? We've known each other for _years_."

Wash shrugs, visibly relaxing. "I don't know. It just … never did, I guess."

"Huh." Carolina frowns, trying to think of any time she should've picked up on that, but there's nothing. Then again, she's never been the most observant of other people. "Well. Thanks for telling me."

"No problem? I'm sorry I couldn't uh … y'know." He smiles at her, warm and sympathetic.

She snorts. "Trust me Wash, it's fine. I'll see you for dinner tonight? Simmons is cooking."

Wash nods and sits back down. "Sure." He pauses for a moment, hand halfway back to the rifle, then looks back at her. "And we're okay?"

Carolina rolls her eyes. "Of course. This isn't elementary school."

Another nod, another smile, and Wash turns back to his rifle. Carolina leaves, heading back to the base. That was awkward, but at least the air's cleared. … And now she knows why Wash never brought up any ex-girlfriends. She's still baffled as to how they've known each other for this long and it _never_ came up, but hey, it happens.

\--

That night, when she's in bed with her hand slipping below her panties, she feels a spike of guilt at touching herself to the thought of a gay man. But hey, it's just in her fantasies. At least she doesn't have to harbor any more hope for these scenarios becoming real.

The guilt fades away, as does any shame or embarrassment. She starts to move her hand, and tonight, her and Wash are going to go slow.


End file.
